Prophecy of the Kings - chapter 1

I've created a world where the people are superstitious but at the time of the tale there is peace although a prophecy predicts a dark future...

Creepy things. That was all he could think about as he rode beneath the trees; spiders first and foremost and he imagined some as large as dinner plates, hidden in the canopy’s dark recesses. It did not help that the light was fading and, the further he rode, the closer the trees seemed to gather around him. Lichen hung from branches like giant webs, caressing his shoulders and leaving moss smears on his already travel-stained cloak. Around him, trees swayed in time to the breeze, filling the air with the rustle of dry leaves. More than once forest creatures bolted at his approach, startling both horse and rider.

Kaplyn cursed himself for entering the wood, but need had driven him. He had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the palace by dawn. He knew the palace guard would be in pursuit and he had to avoid capture.

A branch snapped. Too late he ducked; something thumped against his shoulder, causing his heart to skip a beat.

“What the . . .?” was all he could manage before whatever had hit him launched itself from his shoulder onto a nearby branch, then quickly on to another. The clacking of wood striking wood filled the air as branches whipped back and forth in frenzy. Star shied and he fought the reins as she crabbed across the trail.

“Woe, girl,” he shouted breathlessly. “It was a squirrel, that’s all.” He caught sight of it streaking through the canopy, pausing to glance back at him, flicking its tail in anger.

He struggled to free his cloak from a swaying branch. His dark hair tumbled into his eyes and he brushed it back with his hand. A fresh scratch stung as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his cuff. Then the wind dropped and the branches ceased their creaking; the quiet that followed was unnerving.

Kaplyn peered into the shadows as he urged Star on at a slower pace, allowing his eyes time to search the growing puddles of darkness. He finally admitted his folly in entering the wood. His heart thudded with the sudden shock.

Abruptly the trees thinned but his elation that it was the wood’s end was deflated; it was a glade, nothing more. With the rays of the setting sun illuminating the trees, the glade looked as though it was encapsulated in glass, timeless like a painting of a fairy realm. Mushroom rings sprang from the soft earth and a scent of fungus filled the air. Grass carpeted the woodland floor and small wildflowers added a splash of colour. A brook bubbled through the glade’s heart and the soft sounds of the water calmed his weary mind.

 “What a marvellous place,” he muttered. It was also a good campsite, and besides it was foolhardy travelling in the growing dark. He decided he would continue his journey in the morning, in better light.

He slipped from Star’s back and rubbed his thighs to restore his circulation. The murmur of the brook made him realise he was thirsty. Bending down he scooped up a handful of water and drank. Next he washed the sweat from his face, enjoying the cool but invigorating water.

 Something shoved him firmly in the back, causing him to topple forward. Suppressing a cry of alarm he managed to catch himself before falling in the brook. Muttering, he turned around. Star regarded him with round, liquid eyes; no doubt aggrieved that she was not yet fed. He laughed, partly in relief it had been Star and nothing more sinister. Filling her feedbag he reflected on the trouble it would have caused if he had actually fallen in.

He prepared camp, stacking straw and twigs on some old cloth tinder. He struck flint against his strike-a-light, sending forth a shower of sparks. Bending down he blew to encourage a flame and to his satisfaction one appeared. Encouraged, he tossed on a few sticks. Embers flew into the air and he watched them dance on the breeze. Reaching into his saddlebag he took out a package containing ham and cheese.

He was surrounded by darkness which seemed to have crept from beneath the trees like a living entity while he had not been looking. He could no longer see beyond the light cast by the fire and his earlier musings about spiders came back to mind. He realised there were far worse threats living in the wood and his mind turned to outlaws, or worse still krell. He threw a larger stick onto the fire, his eyes searching the darker recesses of the wood. The flame flickered, threatening to expire, forcing him to blow on the embers. He blinked as smoke stung his eyes.

Long ago he had seen a supposed likeness of a krell in a book, but back then it had seemed comical; a short, gangly creature with long legs and hands too large in proportion to the rest of its body. The skin had been painted grey-green, and the eyes were slitted like a cat’s.

Alone in the forest, he was not so sure about dismissing the possibility of krell lightly. What had once appeared comical now seemed frightening. True, the krell tribes had been defeated years ago, fleeing to the remotest regions of the land, but there were still supposed sightings, and even rumours of attacks. Blowing on the fire a bigger flame appeared and absent-mindedly he stacked on more wood.

What was he thinking? His thoughts strayed to the previous night when he had stolen away from the palace in the middle of the night, like a common criminal. His motive had been plain: to flee the tedium that being ninth in line to the throne brought with it. How often he had dreamed of escaping the trappings of court, to seek an adventure while he could. Now he was on one he was cowering like a fox before the hounds. He felt ashamed.

At home he had spent most of his free time hunting in the woods around the palace, but that was in daylight and always in the company of others. Rallen, the head gamekeeper and his closest friend would be furious at him for creeping off. He feared his father’s anger more than the disappointment Rallen would feel that he hadn’t confided in him. Then again Rallen would have been duty bound to tell his father, the King.

What a muddle!

He didn’t intend staying away for long. He would take part in a local fair, and then perhaps visit Hallar his friend whom he had not seen for many years. His return with tales of adventure would make his brothers green with envy. A grin spread across his lips and abruptly his fears seemed unfounded. He could do this — and face the consequences!

Lying back, he settled down to sleep. The cooing of wood pigeons calmed his fears while a few feet away Star grazed, tearing at the short grass, the soft sounds helping his mind drift towards sleep. The occasional dry snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves roused him, and often he lifted his head to look around, even though it had grown too dark to see. Eventually, tiredness overcame his fears and he fell into a deep but troubled sleep.

      As Kaplyn’s breathing became regular, dreams engulfed him and it seemed as though he was in the glade, but sitting high in a branch looking down on his own sleeping form. The dream seemed real; he could see every detail of himself as his chest rose and fell in slumber.

His long, dark hair framed an honest but plain face. He was a young man in his early twenties, well built due to plenty of exercise and a good upbringing. His clothes were expensive but suited his environment; his leather tunic was a practical garment and his long riding boots were made form a soft, supple hide.

He was distracted from his musings by an ethereal light that appeared at the glade’s edge. As a frown furrowed his brow, a shape drifted into view. It was a woman and her robes floated about her as though blown upon a wind from another plane of existence. Her face was perfect and her complexion as pure as alabaster. However, as her eyes alighted on his sleeping form she wore a look of sorrow. Kaplyn felt that he could hear her mind.

 My time is too short, she was thinking.  And the task too great. Gone are my brothers and sisters and I alone prevail.

She raised her eyes into the distance as though sensing something from afar. Her frown deepened as she continued to circle his recumbent form.

What help I have, I offer.

Remember the Kalanth, and think of us in the future. She bent and traced a rune on Kaplyn’s brow. In his sleep, he stirred and a low moan escaped his lips.

The watching Kaplyn wanted to waken but a great lethargy stole over him.  

Great hardships you will face, that I can see in your future. Strengthen your resolve, for at times that is all you will have.

Abruptly she stood and again her frown deepened. Even Kaplyn felt that something was amiss.

Then the trees parted and a small creature came into view. She sucked in her breath. An imp. One of the lesser demons, but a demon nonetheless.

It saw her and grinned, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.

“Begone,” it said. “You have had your time and now it is mine.”

Do not approach;  you cannot harm him.

“That might be,” the imp acknowledged. “But in time your enchantment will all too soon weaken, then fade.”

The imp draw near and it, too, marked Kaplyn.

“Go,” she said, and Kaplyn felt the power that she drew. The imp recoiled but did not leave.

“Your time has passed, last of the Kalanth, and mine is just beginning. Soon demons will be able to cross the divide, seeking souls and your kind can offer no protection now. I have finished here, for my master calls. I go, because I want to and not because of your idle threats.”

Her scream of frustration rent the air — and then she was gone.

 

Kaplyn jerked to wakefulness, already the dream fading from his mind. In the span of a heartbeat two things happened. He saw a terrible face peering over him and Star whinnied loudly. Abruptly there followed the crash of splintered wood as she bolted into the trees. Kaplyn lashed out with his fist, a cry of fear erupting from his lips. Whatever it was drew back and vanished in the blink of an eye and his fist made contact with nothing more than air as he scrambled into a crouch.

Drawing his sword, he held the weapon extended. Except for the distant crashing and snapping of wood made by Star escaping, all else was quiet. Should he go after her? The darkness amongst the trees seemed too threatening. He also reasoned whatever had awoken him might still be nearby.

The memory of the creature returned. It had been about the size of a fox, hairless and its flesh an unnatural grey. Its tongue had flickered across rows of sharp-looking teeth. He shuddered at the memory, feeding more wood onto the dying fire.

Was it a krell? he wondered, but shook his head. He refused to be drawn into fairy tales.

“Damn, now I am really tired,” he moaned. Suddenly his attention was riveted on the far side of the glade; he thought he had heard voices. Then, more distinctly, he heard them again, louder, as though in heated debate. His heart leapt; perhaps he was near a settlement or a farm. Caution kept him rooted to the spot — the thought that it could be outlaws sprang to mind.

His indecision did not last long; his fear of whatever else was in the wood prompted him to act. Picking up his saddlebag he slung it over his shoulder and grabbed his bow. He took longer than usual stringing it and he had to still his trembling hands.

Looking around for any remaining possessions his eyes alighted on his saddle. That was too bulky to carry and he had no choice but to leave it, hoping to return in the morning. Casting a last look about the glade he tipped water from his canteen onto the fire, causing it to hiss like an angry snake.

Pushing through the thick undergrowth was hard work and, even though the night was chilly, he was soon sweating. Stopping occasionally, he marked a tree with the point of his knife so he could find his way back to the glade. He stopped. Ahead, was a line of trees and bushes, topping a small rise and between the trees, there was a definite glow. Dropping to all fours he crawled towards a bush.

Before him, the ground dipped into another glade, but much bigger than the one he had just left. A large fire in the glade’s centre cast enough light to see. A man was pacing around the fire and four men were astride a fallen tree trunk whilst three others slouched on the ground. Most were eating and he noticed an aroma of roast pork.

They gave the impression of men used to living rough, hardened by nights spent in the wild. There was no doubting they were outlaws but, by their ragged appearance, they were unsuccessful ones. Some wore leather tunics torn and stained with wear, while others had thick woollen cloaks whose colour had long since faded. Their weapons were crude; mainly cudgels or knives, although two wore swords, tucked through their belts. Only the pacing man wore both a sword and scabbard, probably taken as plunder. 

As Kaplyn watched they were finishing their meal, putting down their platters and wiping greasy hands on their clothes. The pacing man abruptly stood still and threw an arm out, indicating beyond the circle of light to the rear of the camp.

“Bring him here,” he growled ominously. His voice carried easily to Kaplyn. “It’s time to deal with the man who killed my brother.”

Two men arose from the log and walked away from Kaplyn, disappearing amongst the trees. Kaplyn ducked lower, regretting now that he had left the comparative safety of his own camp. Just as he was about to leave, the men returned, pushing another man roughly before them. He stumbled in a manner suggesting his hands were bound behind his back.

He was a big man, broad across the chest, with powerful shoulders. His hair and beard were blond, which was a surprise to Kaplyn for Allunds were brown-haired and Thracians marginally fairer.

At that moment his captives were forcing him to his knees, kicking the back of his legs and pushing down on his shoulders. The prisoner resisted but their efforts were too much for him and he collapsed to his knees.

Striding towards the prisoner the leader raised his foot and slammed his heel into the prisoner’s face. Toppling backwards, the big man managed to stop himself falling. When he looked up his beard was flecked with blood. 

“You will not have an easy death,” the outlaw spat with undisguised hatred. “You killed two of my men. One was my brother — for that, you’ll pay.” As he spoke he circled the prisoner before coming to a halt behind him. “The only thing is … I haven’t decided how to kill you — yet.”

“Let me finish him,” one of the men sitting on the trunk offered, holding a long knife in his hand, his eyes shining with anticipation.

The leader shook his head.  “He’s mine. Hold him,” he waved his hand in the direction of two of his men. He then crossed to the fire as his men leapt to their feet to stand either side of the kneeling prisoner, each gripping a shoulder. The leader’s dagger reflected the firelight as he drew it before plunging it into the fire.

“Let's see how strong he is without his eyes,” he said through gritted teeth.

In his hiding place Kaplyn tensed and the colour drained from his face. Part of him wanted to leave and yet another part of him wanted to help the prisoner — but what could he do?

Crawling backwards he sought deeper shadows. He rubbed soil on his face to mask its whiteness, spitting on his fingers to soften the soil. Rising slowly he stood braced against the trunk of a tree, hoping that he wouldn’t be silhouetted. His hunting bow was not meant for battle, but it was a stout weapon. Taking aim he prayed to the Kalanth for an alternative.

The men either side of the prisoner struggled to hold him down as he fought against them. Removing the now glowing knife from the fire their leader advanced, clearly enjoying himself as he brought his knife deliberately towards the other man’s eyes.  

Kaplyn struggled with his conscience until he could not afford to wait any longer. Drawing his bow a fraction more, he released the arrow. A scream of agony rang through the trees as the arrow hammered into the outlaw’s shoulder. With a mingled wail of pain and rage, he dropped his knife.

All eyes flashed towards the trees, looking in Kaplyn's general direction but not at him. He kept still and it was soon clear from their bewildered looks that the outlaws could not see him. He drew an arrow from his sheath and nocked it.

As though released from a spell the men sitting on the fallen trunk flung themselves backward, behind the improvised barricade. The two men holding the prisoner let go as they, too, dived for cover behind the trunk.

“Who’s out there?” one man cried out to his companions.

“Town guard?” came a muffled reply.

“Can’t be,” said another. “We’re too far from the town. The guard would never come this far.”

“King’s troops then?” came back a timid reply.

“Quiet!” snapped the leader. “Use your bloody ears, and cease wagging your tongues.” He alone was standing, clutching his wound; his face twisted in pain. After a moment he seemed satisfied. “Get up,” he ordered. When no one responded he went over to the log and delivered a hefty kick to some poor unfortunate. A grunt followed.

“There’s only one man, otherwise they would have attacked by now. Get out there and find whoever shot me!”

An outlaw timidly climbed to his feet. Kaplyn aimed and loosed another arrow that thudded into the trunk sufficiently close to send him scurrying back for cover.

“He’s a good shot,” Kaplyn heard.

“I don’t care,” the outlaw chief screamed. “Get out there and bring me his head!” He delivered another kick and Kaplyn heard a further grunt of pain.

Finally, one man dared to rise, either out of bravado or because of his leader’s brutality. The man sprinted for the line of trees to Kaplyn's left. Kaplyn let fly an arrow but his aim was poor and the man escaped. Time was against him now with an outlaw amongst the trees.

Seeing their colleague’s success and fearful of their leader’s anger, two more men ran after the first. Events were now so out of control that Kaplyn had to shoot more accurately. The arrow hit one of the running men in the lower back, spilling him to the ground with a cry of pain. Briefly, the man struggled to crawl forward, but his strength left him and he collapsed. The other man managed to reach the tree line where he disappeared from view.

Behind the log no one dared move and even their leader dropped behind cover, still berating the others for their cowardice. Forgotten and recognising an opportunity to escape, the prisoner climbed with difficulty to his feet and started to run towards the trees in the opposite direction taken by the two outlaws.

The outlaw leader, seeing his prisoner escaping, shouted out in rage. He stood up. A well-placed arrow barely missed his head, causing him to drop back with a yelp of agony as the barb already in his arm bit deeper.

Kaplyn shot two more shafts at the tree trunk in quick succession before scooping up his saddlebag and quiver of dwindling arrows. He ran through the thick vegetation, aiming in the general direction that the prisoner had taken. He had little difficulty in finding him, following the sound of cracking twigs and the louder snap of branches.

Before Kaplyn could reach him the large blond man stopped and turned to face him; his feet firmly planted and defiance in his eyes even though his hands were bound.

“I’m a friend,” Kaplyn said, skidding to a halt.

The big man relaxed. “Untie me,” he replied, turning his back and offering his bound wrists.

Kaplyn slung his bow across his back and drew a dagger. As quickly as he could he cut the bonds.

The big man rubbed at his chafed wrists. “Thanks,” he whispered .

“We must go,” Kaplyn urged. “They’ll be after us.”

They jogged deeper into the wood. Branches lashed their flesh, forcing them to walk. All at once, Kaplyn grabbed the other man’s shoulder, forcing him to crouch. Not far away he had heard the rustle of leaves.

“They’re over here,” someone shouted. The crashing of a body through the undergrowth followed.

Kaplyn kept a grip on the other man’s shoulder. At first he thought the outlaws had discovered them, but the sound of their passage through the vegetation was fading. “Come on,” Kaplyn whispered and led them away from the direction the outlaw had gone, taking care to keep noise to a minimum.

After a while Kaplyn whispered, “That was close. We nearly stumbled into an outlaw. Something must have distracted him.” 

“Probably an animal,” the other man suggested softly.

Kaplyn nodded. “We need to keep walking. They’ll still be looking for us.”

In silence, they continued for the better part of the night, stopping occasionally to listen for signs of pursuit. After several stops Kaplyn decided they were finally safe; he collapsed where he stood, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’m shattered,” the big man said, sitting down across from Kaplyn with his back against a trunk. Dark rings circled his eyes and he looked barely able to stand. “My name’s Lars,” he said, holding out his hand. Kaplyn shook it.

“Kaplyn,” he returned.

“I’m grateful you came along when you did.”

“What happened?” Kaplyn whispered.

Lars shook his head. “I was foolish enough to enter the wood, that’s what happened! They must have seen me as an easy target, armed only with a walking staff. I put up a fight but when the second man fell their leader went wild, ordering me to be taken alive. They overwhelmed, just by their numbers.”

The two men fell silent for a moment, each listening to the night noises, trying to discern if they were being followed. Above, an owl hooted and then there was silence.

“I’ve never seen anyone with blond hair before. Where are you from?” 

“Gorlanth, it’s far across the sea.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Lars nodded. “Not many people have. Few Allunders even know land exists across the sea. A storm keeps all but the bravest captain close to the shore. Every day I pray to return home, to my wife and son.”

Kaplyn saw the hurt reflected deep within his eyes. In respect for the other man’s need for silence he turned his thoughts to their predicament, estimating that about half the night remained. “We need to leave,” he announced at last.

“Can’t we rest here, for a while at least? After all it would be safer continuing in the morning, when it’s light.”

Kaplyn was not so sure. The wood made him nervous and he was keen to leave. He conceded, however, that it was more dangerous travelling in the dark.

 “Very well, we’ll stay here, but we need to take turns on guard.”

 Lars nodded and Kaplyn offered to stand the first watch. For a while he sat awake, listening to Lars’ snoring which seemed loud enough to attract a host of outlaws let alone whatever creatures lurked in the wood. He considered waking him, but having seen how tired he looked he felt guilty and decided not to, choosing instead to reflect on the events of the night. He regretted the loss of his belongings and especially Star, nevertheless he realised there was no going back. He had clothes in his saddlebag, money in a purse and a few gold coins secreted into the lining of his leather jerkin so he could afford to replace his losses.

After a while, when Kaplyn felt that he couldn’t stay awake any longer, he shook Lars’ shoulder. The big man stirred and looked around blearily. “Your turn to keep guard,” Kaplyn said.

Lars grumbled, sat up and looked out into the darkness. Kaplyn waited to make sure his companion was taking his duty seriously, then lay down and, even though roots dug painfully into his side, fell asleep almost immediately.

 

Author's Note

Any comments welcome. Not looking for in depth grammar etc. I've hade several so called 'experts' on the Internet do that and got different results from each, so I think it will do as is.

Reviews

[Fantasyfairy]

A very nice start to this story. The description is well done as is the placement and length of tension here and there. My only advice would be to cut the chapter in half for this site. The actual length of the chapter is fine, but on this site people tend to loo at the length of a story before reading it and if it is too long, then they don't bother even looking at it and move on to something shorter. I enjoyed the chapter and the character introduction was well done. It would be a shame if no one else read this simply because of the length. XX

[Sara May Prideaux]

The story is awsome so far ^^
My only suggestion is that (My own opinion dont worry if you dont agree.) But I think that you might have introduced the horse Star to quickly.
I couldn't understand who Star was at first untill I read further. My suggestion would be "The rains jerked, as his horse shied away from the noise, quickly he pulled back to regain control. "Woe, easy girl." He shouted breathlessly. When she had calmed down some, he reached up and patted her gently on the neck "Its ok Star, just a squirrel is all."
Or something like that, not exactly that but ^^ I tryied to be helpfull!
Besides that, I really like it. Cant wait to read more.